Resolutions and Departures
by Anastrianna Shilaquinaria Kala
Summary: Harry is the child of a Fake Prophecy, Marked to overcome the evil in the Light... but one cannot die without the other. As his tortured soul is wrenched from his body, Harry's Mark of Philo saves him, and he starts again... new world, new life, new love.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay.. this is going to be really Alternate Universe, with a manipulative Dumbledore (evil too) and a semi-nice Tom Riddle (Controlled by Dumbledore),  
>Ginny, Percy, Molly and Arthur, plus possibly the Twins bashing(probably not.), a good, understanding Ron, a nice Hermione, a fickle Wizarding World, and horrible Rita Skeeter, a homosexual, nice, independent, abused and powerful (NOT all-powerful) Harry and a nice Severus, Remus and alive Sirius. It will also involve a nice Draco, Neville, Blaise (Zabini) and Theodore Nott, with a fairly intelligent and nice Pansy. Okay? Cool.<p>

_**Resolutions – A Prologue**_

A soundless scream tore at Harry Potter's throat. He writhed on the bed; ratty sheets tangling around pale legs, sprinkled with scars, and clawed bloody furrows in his chest. His screams cut off abruptly as awareness returned im from Morpheus's clutching hands.

Harry bolted upright, panting harshly, eyes wide and unfocused. A whimper, barely held in check, erupted into his mouth, and Harry wandlessly Summoned the small bin he had scrounged from a local junkyard towards him just in time. He vomited, bile choking him, and then wordlessly Vanished the mess.  
>Black and purple bruises marred his chest, five long sliced sluggishly bleeding, and he winced as he grabbed a cloth to mop up. His rib had been broken by Vernon just the other day, and his new injuries were really not helping at all with the pain factor.<p>

The dark-haired teen stared out of the slots in the cupboard, the darkness never lifting.

This had to stop.

Harry made a resolution as he sat in the dark, damp cupboard under the stairs, sitting on moldy sheets, a transfigured mattress his only comfort, bruised, battered and bleeding (courtesy of his relatives and nightmares).

He would leave. Who cares that Voldemort could get him once he was past the wards? All HE wanted was to kill him, not make his life a living hell.

Mouth set in a line grim from pain and eyes hard with determination, Harry hauled himself off his tiny bed, grunting in pain. His eyes gleaming somewhat eerily in the dark, he grabbed his trunk, unwrapping the heavy chains binding it with slow, pain-filled movements. He stuffed his muggle backpack, which he had filled with money, his few raggedy hand-me-downs and the photo album Hagrid had given him into the trunk, tapping it with his finger. He watched in satisfaction as it shrunk, before smirking somewhat evilly.

He had just remembered something. Harry reached down, removing a brick from the wall, and grabbed a collection of photos and sheets.

He had made a small portfolio, which included his real diary up until the age of eleven, several photos he had taken of himself when he was hurt before he left for Hogwarts, and a few tapes, recording taken from the 'erase' box the Dursley's kept for their home cameras. He took a final snapshot of his cupboard from the door, making sure to include the small, crudely drawn picture from when he was four, done in blacks and reds, which proudly proclaimed the cupboard as 'Harry's Room'.

He was going to post it to the police, as he had planned to do since the age of ten, when he learnt that, no, starving, beating, verbally abusing and locking a child in a cupboard was not okay, and nor was it legal. He had known, even as a young child, that something was not right about the way the Dursley's treated him, just look at Dudley! But he had been too young to do anything about it… And even the 'nice' Mrs. Figg had done nothing when he asked, tearfully, if she could help him.

She had smiled, patted him on the head, and sent him right back to his 'relatives'. For that alone, she was still one of Harry's least favourite people… Dumbledore being in the Top Five. Of. All. Time. Most. _Hated_. **Bastards.  
><strong>  
>Ahem.<p>

Harry shook his head, concentrating instead on being the quietest he could be as he snuck up the stairs. His uncle had locked his wand, school books and anything not bolted down in the trunk up there, before throwing the trunk at him and barking at him to 'get back to your cupboard, you freaky child' with a kick to his ribs. He was, quite frankly, surprised his foot managed to reach that high, even if Harry was really short for his age, only around 5"2. Thrice-damned malnutrition.

He reached the ladder, pulling it down slowly; thanking whatever gods did not hate him up there that he had been forced to oil the hinges just yesterday.

Climbing up one step at a time, Harry froze, heart jumping up to get friendly with his tonsils, as Vernon snorted in his sleep. Closing his eyes with a sigh of relief, Harry renewed his climb with more speed than before. Unknown to him, his speed made the old wooden ladder splinter slightly, before his weight lifted, and the step returned to its normal shape.

Muttering to himself, Harry quickly un-shrunk his trunk, stuffing all the things he could get his hands on into the wooden compartments. Getting ready to leave, he noticed an odd box, seemingly deliberately hidden, with the name 'L. Evans and M' barely visible. Hardly daring to breath, Harry reached for it with trembling hands. He finally had something of his mother's. He finally had something to remember her by, besides photos and his last memories of her death, and the vague, half-there dreams of a gentle voice and soft hands.

They were all he had had as a young child to combat the overwhelming despair his so-called relatives bestowed upon him.

He paused, foot nearly touching the step, when a sudden snort broke the silence of the early morning. Shrugging, he shrunk his trunk, with the large box safely inside, and put it on the black shoelace he had charmed invisible while at school around his neck. It may be paranoid, but he liked to carry everything around with him, even while at school.

This probably saved his life. The step shattered loudly.

Vernon Dursley, 200% overweight mass and muscle, mean, vicious and determined to be 'normal', awoke to the sound of his wife snorting beside him. He thought he had heard a cracking sound… He glanced with mixed disgust and hate at his wife, and then froze as he heard a faint footstep from the direction of the… he strained his small ears. Yes, from the direction of the attic. His fat jowls wobbled dangerously as he undertook the great feat of hauling his body out of bed, grabbing the nearest belt, and strode out in to the upper hallway. He would teach the freak a lesson he would never forget, or kill him trying!

That horrible, nasty, freakish boy would soon be begging for him to stop, and the cupboard would have to be cleaned of blood again… by his freaky hands. Besides, he had a new form of punishment tonight. He had watched a crime show last night, and he had heard a nice piece of news.

"Raping a victim will often be the most effective way of breaking them mentally and emotionally. This may lead to comas or even death if the case is extreme enough."  
>He smiled. HE wouldn't touch the lump of bones and freakish blood, of course, but he was sure his darling Dudders, and maybe a couple of friends, would be glad of the practice, until they could get girlfriends of their own. Gang raping had to be better than just a single rape in order to break him, right?<p>

His large, flabby feet creaked on the last step, and the freak, whom was half-way through picking the locks, froze. Green eyes, _oh how he would love to see him broken, _gazed at him with a curious mix of disgust, fear and hatred. What did he have to be disgusted about, and what RIGHT did the boy have to hate him? It wasn't like he had feelings, not like normal people, after all. And he was the disgusting bit of freakish meat, which woke up screaming its throat out and did weird things, not him.

Harry froze. His uncle was barely a few feet away, and he knew, after having glanced back, that he was carrying the three-tied belt, with the sharp silver buckles and the studs that ripped his skin so brutally. The last lock clicked open under trembling fingers, and Harry dropped to his knees, lashing out flat-footed, hitting Vernon right on the knee. Hearing him grunt with no small amount of satisfaction, Harry kicked out again, this time breaking his nose, and cast a strong stunner at him, and by extension his wife and son.

Harry ran.

He ran to the Post Office, just barely open, and gave his portfolio to be sent to the Police Station, ignoring the clerk's worried expression at his ruffled, bleeding state.  
>He moved outside, staring for a brief moment at the burst of pinks, reds, oranges, purples and violent greens and blues that preceded the rising sun. He wondered where Hedwig had flown to after school's end.<p>

Holding out his holly and Phoenix feather wand, he frowned at the decreasing amount of connection between his wand and himself. Perhaps he ought to pay a visit to Mr. Ollivander? Shaking his head, rather like a wet dog, Harry gave Stan the Knight Bus driver his required two sickles, and sat down in one of the cushioned chair at the far back.  
>He had his back to the wall, all entries and exits in sight, and so he was the first to notice the oddly dressed, rather short figure emerge, seemingly from the shadows, and stalk purposefully towards him.<p>

" Harry B-R J Potter? Son of the unwilling Lily Rose Evans and James Brian Potter?" came a voice from inside the hood, as a long fingered hand pushed what appeared to be a small silver coin into his hand. " Show this to Griphook at Gringotts, Mr. Potter. And remember, Mr. Potter! This was a dream. You will remember me when the time is right, but for now… A gift, before you awaken."

The strange being leaned forward, pulling the hood back, and dropped a kiss on his scar. A strange, silver mist that flowed from the figure's mouth, and it sucked and pulled a screaming black cloud out and away from him, before settling back into his skin.

Harry blinked.

He felt rather vague, confused, like there was something he ought to remember, something important. All he knew was that he was going to Gringotts, and the strange, silvery coin on his palm had something to do with his memory loss. He also felt lighter, more free, like a great chain had just dropped away from his body.

"Diagon Alley!" shouted Stan Shunpike, and Harry quickly exited the bus. Madame Marchbanks smelt something _awful_.

"Hey, Tom. Can I get a room for a few days?" asked Harry, flattening his fringe over his scar. He really did _not_want to be mobbed.

"Sure… Harry." Tom winked, and Harry gave him a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Tom. Its four sickles a night, right?"

"Yeah. Just make a drop deposit when you leave, no need to pay me now. May I ask what exactly you plan on doing for the next… month and a half until school, Mr. Harry?" Tom inquired, brown eyes looking at the too-large clothes, the skinny frame, the dried blood.

"Just… Some problems at… my relative's place." Harry said nervously, not noticing the sudden narrowing of Tom's eyes when he said 'my relative's' instead of 'home'. The suddenly understanding light in the barkeeper's eyes made Harry uncomfortable.

"Your room is just near the stairs, Mr. Harry. Take a right, the first door you see. Number 3."

"Thanks, Tom. I'm heading out to Gringotts, so can I have my key now? I may be out late, I don't know how long my business will take." Harry explained, feeling relieved when Tom slid him an old silver key. With a quick smile to the innkeeper, he went out into the small outside area.  
>With a quick smile at the dustbins, which he swore winked, Harry drew his wand, tapping the bricks in the right order. He breathed a sigh of relief, sliding quickly through the crowds to reach the crooked white building of the Goblin's Bank, Gringotts.<p>

He bowed to the two Goblin guards outside, ignoring the jeers from the entering Wizards, and gave a quick smile when the swarthy guards bowed slightly back. It was good he had gotten that right. Goblin bows were like a whole other language of their own. If you meant to say 'Hello', but tilted you head slightly to the left, you were saying 'Oh, go and sleep with your grandmother, jerk.'  
>The next two guards also bowed back, the same bow, which meant 'I am confused as to why you are doing this, but still relatively grateful.', followed by another which meant 'Ha! Those wizards are getting it rubbed into their faces so bad right now!' to each other, a bow which used a complicated finger movement… Or it could have meant 'I love you too.' Harry wasn't entirely sure, but went with the first option, just to be safe.<p>

He walked through the doors, into the grand marble interior, and went to the one free goblin teller. He looked vaguely familiar…

" Hello, master Griphook. I have come to see my account manager." Harry began, taking his gold key from the sewn pocket inside his shirt and sliding it across the desk. He got a grunt and an inclination of the head ('I'll be right back', not to be confused with ' Mushrooms are delicious'.) as an answer, and Griphook shouted something in Gobbledygook at a waiting goblin.

Waiting patiently, Harry gazed around him, noticing with disgust the brusque, sometimes disgusted or dismissive way the wizards treated the goblins. He was frankly amazed at their stupidity. How idiotic did you have to be to insult the very beings that control your _money_, for Merlin's sake?

" We goblins often ask ourselves the very same thing, Mr. Potter." Replied Griphook.

" Oh, did I say that out loud?" Harry said sheepishly, smiling awkwardly. "Well, I still think that they should treat you better. What would they do if you just upped and left, sick of being treated like dirt? And people wonder why the Goblin Rebellions start!" Harry muttered, scoffing. Griphook smiled nastily at Harry, which he recognized as a 'nice', by goblin standards, smile, not the smile that meant 'I'm going to kill you slowly, painfully and then torture you to insanity before killing you'. That was the trademark smile of the goblin clans, and it had been perfected over the millennium.

" We quite agree, Mr. Potter. Here comes your account manager now. Lord Ragnarok." He muttered, bowing so low his head nearly touched the floor. Taking his queue from Griphook, Harry bowed himself. The tall, scarred goblin gestured impatiently at them to rise, and the two, goblin and human, obediently trooped after him.

They were led to a large conference room, plain and simply decorated, with a broadsword hanging above the head of Ragnarok's desk.

" First, Mr. Potter, I would like to enquire as to why exactly you never answered any mail Gringott's sent to you?"

Harry frowned. " What letters? I have never received a letter from Gringott's before. Ever."

" That cannot be right, Mr. Potter. We have sent you forms, overviews and property ward management letters ever since the age of ten." Ragnarok frowned.

" Well, I never got any. I lived with muggles." Harry retorted, folding his arms defensively.

Ragnarok studied Harry intently. " You… lived with muggles?" A strange expression crossed their faces, before a furious shuffling of papers ensued. " We have it written down here, by your magical guardian himself, that you are living with Aberforth Dumbledore."

" What magical guardian?"

" You were not aware that Albus Dumbledore is your magical guardian?"

" No…" Harry sighed, looking down. " I never even knew about the wizarding world until I was eleven." A brief sneer twisted his face. "My relative's made sure of that."

" Relatives, Mr Potter?" asked Griphook. Harry turned to look at the goblin, and their eyes met. Harry felt himself go numb, his mind clouding, as he reached out with the silver coin.

"TaKe** IT **GriPhOok." Came a voice out of his mouth, one that Harry even in his dazed state recognized as not his own. It was raspy and low, and the accent was not mortal. The voice made Harry shiver.

" My Lord." The Goblins bowed deeply.

" THis bOy Is thE Key oF FAke PrOphEcy. TrEaT HIM WelL."

Harry blinked dazedly, the fog slowly clearing from his mind as the goblins straightened from their prostate positions.

"You have been Marked by the Lord of Prophecy and Ruin." Ragnarok breathed, eyes for the first time studying his scar. "And he has relieved you of a great burden."

"Lord of… Prophecy and Ruin?" Harry parroted, frowning in bewilderment.

"What do they teach you at that school? No, don't answer that, boy. The Lord of Prophecy and Ruin is otherwise known as Merlinaes. Merlin was his great-grandson. He controls all the prophecy's in the world, and is the source of the Seer's gift. Do not scoff!" Ragnarok warned him harshly, and Harry gulped. "Prophecy's are great things, Mr. Potter. Terrible, yes, but great. Do you know of your prophecy?"

At Harry's confused look, he sighed.

Griphook spoke. "I know his prophecy, sir. If you would permit me to tell Mr. Potter?"

"Please." Harry sighed, one hand over his eyes. "Call me Harry. Mr. Potter sounds so… stuffy." He made a face to which the goblins snickered.

Ragnarok turned. "If you so wish… Harry. Griphook, if you would?"

" This is the prophecy recorded in the Department of Mysteries, although fake, Harry:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._

This Prophecy is a fake. The real prophecy is this, Harry.:

_The one with the power of the four approaches… born to one who has thrice been bound, born as the seventh month dies… and he will be Marked as the Fate Holder, the Fake Child, but he will overcome those who seek to tear him… and Light must die for Shadow to thrive, and Dark shall turn to grey… The one with the power of four in nigh! The night of the moon is darker than silver, and he comes! Born, born as the seventh month dies… He will be Marked… and he rises…"_


	2. Chapter 2

_Tom Marvolo Riddle bolted upright in his bed, staring at the short, robed figure silhouetted by the moon._

_"Who are you?" he demanded, long fingers curling over his familiar 13 inch yew wand._

_" I am what you are not. Complete." The figure rasped, and glided closer of soundless feet._

_"What do you mean? Of course I am complete, you doddering fool." Tom snapped, Crucio on his lips._

_"The Bumblebee hath stolen thy memories, I see." The figure sighed sadly, and moved closer still. "I can return them, if that is thy wish."_

_" My… memories?" asked Voldemort slowly, red eyes glaring with mistrust. "I do not even know your name."_

_"You may call me… Hecata." The figure's voice seemed to smile at him gently._

_"Well then, Hecata, I don't trust you, but if, IF, my memories have indeed been stolen, how do you plan to get them back?"_

_Hecata smiled serenely. "By destroying the block in your mind, Tom Riddle."_

_"…Fine. Do what you will." Tom muttered after a five minute long staring contest._

_"Close thy eyes, Marvolo. Sleep…" Hecata muttered, and the ruby eyes slowly slid shut with the faintest murmur of dissent._

_Hecata smoothed his bald head with a skeletal hand, watching in satisfaction as a thick mane of hair grew. She bent down and breathed a silvery-black mist into his forehead, before drawing a pentagram at its point of entry._

_Placing one hand on his heart, and the other cradling Tom's head, Hecata dove into his mind. She ignored the chests and bookshelves, bypassing all of the traps with ease. There was an oily mist writhing around a black chest, the memory block, which turned defensive as she drew near._

_A creature with sharp teeth and claws made to attack her, but with a wave she dispelled the illusion._

_"Thou art truly strong, Bumblebee, to create such a monster in thy unwilling pawns. No wonder this poor boy art so confused…" she muttered, hands curling in fists._

_Her fingernails grew, hands shifting, bones breaking and healing, until she had large claws and strong, hard, animal hands. With a bestial scream, she tore and rent the oily intruder, a whirlwind of destruction and vengeance. When all that was left were tatters, Hecata waved her hands to dispel them._

_"Doing this to one of my children! If only I could interfere more on the mortal plane…" Hecata sighed, fading from Tom's mind. "There, child. This should release you truly and fully until I can get the rest of thy soul shards back to you. Sweet Dreams, my Marvel."_

Harry looked up at the goblins with shock.

"So… the Prophecy was truly a fake? But… who has enough power to… Dumbledore." Harry snarled, fists curling. "Griphook, could I please have an overview of my vault and… can you do an inheritance-test thingy? Or a blood line test?"

"We can do both. However… You have more than one vault…Harry. Did you wish for an overview of one, or all?" Griphook asked.

"More than one vault?" Blinking slowly, Harry shrugged. "All of them, I suppose."

"Very well, Harry. GLIBROOK! Get me folders 145-167 and the IB box." Griphook ordered the young goblin, who bowed and hurried away. "It should be here soon, Mr.… Harry."

Harry smiled, and then looked down bashfully. "Thanks, Griphook. I… I think this is the most anyone has ever done for me, who wasn't a friend or paid to do so."

Both goblins merely bowed their heads in silence. The pensive atmosphere was broken when Glibrook arrived, bowed under the weight of a massive stack of parchment and a box.

Griphook gave the small goblin a nod of thanks, and levitated the parchment stacks over to Ragnarok. The box was set down in front of Harry. It was plain, black metal with no clasp.

"What do I need to do?" Harry asked, refraining from touching the box, just to be cautious.

" Cut yourself with this athema," Ragnarok pointed to a silver dagger Harry hadn't noticed. "Then, drip seven drops of blood onto the black pentagram at the top of the box. We wait until the magic disassembles your blood, and it will give you a list of bloodlines, and the gifts that are dormant or active within those bloodlines, and the percentage of chance that you will be able to receive that gift on your majority. Or, barring that, the birthday after your magical emancipation."

"Magical emancipation? Gifts? Majority?" Harry stared, shaking his head. "I have no idea what you guys mean by that, you realize."

Ragnarok frowned. "Ah. Well. Your majority is the day when a wizard or witch," here his lips curled slightly in disgust, "receives any gifts from their bloodline, and a boost of magical power. Your majority generally happens in your early twenties, but some, such as Voldemort and Dumbledore, Nicholas Flamel and the four founders, even Merlin himself, have their power surges early. The earlier you have it, the more powerful in magic you will be. Dumbledore and Voldemort both had theirs at 17, Merlin and the four founders at 16."

Ragnarok paused, gesturing at Griphook to continue. " Gifts are what abilities a bloodline grants you. For example, the Blacks have great skills in animal care; dark magic and some are Metamorphagus. The Malfoy's have always had a great affinity with the dark and neutral magic's, and are loved by dragons and wyverns. The Dumbledore's have always been firmly entrenched in bad magic's, the hurtful type. The Weasley's have a great amount of magical power, and analytical minds. However, this generation has been diluted greatly by the marriage to Molly Prewett."

Ragnarok took over the explanation. " Magical emancipation is where you undergo a trial in front of the Gaia Stone. If the Stone agrees, you are officially emancipated in the Wizarding and Mundane worlds. It judges character, strength of magic and will, determination and your past in full before it judges. If you become emancipated by the stone, all your vaults are moved the a high-security sectioned vault, your majority comes either the birthday after or two years after and you cannot be controlled or forced by anyone."

" I see." Said Harry, pondering. "Would the tracer and the under-age magic laws be null?"

"Indeed." Both goblins chorused, smiling. Harry shuddered.

"Okay." Harry grasped the athema, taking deep breath, before slicing his palm with the wickedly sharp knife.

One drop, two drops. Harry sliced again before his wound closed fully, wincing.  
>Three drops, four drops, five drops. One more slice and the last two drops of ruby liquid fell.<p>

A bright white glow enveloped the box, and it shuddered violently. A piece of parchment was laid beside the inheritance and blood box, and bright red ink began to scrawl across the page. Finally, after another three sheets of parchment, the box gave a last shudder and stilled, the glow fading to nothing.

The first parchment was his family line.

**Name: Harry B-R J Potter  
>Location: Gringotts<br>Mood: Apprehensive**

**Family Lines:**

**Black – Connected through great-great-great grandmother Theodosia Black.**

**Gaunt – Connected to Tom Marvolo Riddle through Merope Gaunt, mother, by magic.**

**Potter – Connected by Father, James Brian Potter.**

**Evanes – Connected by Mother, Lily Rose Evanes (Evans)**

**Slytherin – Connected by great-great-great-great-grandfather, Alexis Slytherin.**

**Ravenclaw – Connected by her Heir, Lily Rose Potter.**

**Gryffindor – Connected by Spouse, Salazar Slytherin.**

**Kihana – Connected by great-great-grandfather, Micah Kihana. Other World.**

Harry stared.

"Other World?" he asked quietly. The goblins gulped.

"There are… other worlds. All of them share the same focal points, for example, a hero to defeat the bad guys. Sometimes a world traveler will appear. Obviously, one of your ancestors met a world traveler, and got impregnated."

Harry nodded. "Slytherin and Gryffindor were married?"

"Ah. Well, yes. Although, nowadays, people just think of Slytherin as a 'slimy git' who hated all muggleborns. The truth is far from that. Godric and Salazar fell in love. Godric was a pure-blood, Salazar a half-blood. Salazar disliked his relatives, who did not treat him well, and from one of his rants comes the misconception of today." Ragnarok coughed uncomfortably. "We tried to tell the wizards, but they wouldn't listen."

" My mother was Ravenclaw's Heir?" Harry asked. The goblins shrugged. "Right. Okay. Next parchment, please."

**Name: Harry B-R J Potter  
>Location: Gringotts<br>Mood: In Shock**

**Abilities:**

**Metamorphagus – Black**

**Transfiguration – Potter**

**Charms – Evanes**

**Runes – Evanes**

**Arithmancy – Evanes**

**Blood Rituals – Gaunt**

**Parseltongue – Slytherin**

**Parselmagic – Slytherin**

**Potions - Slytherin**

**Weapon – Sword – Double Daggers – Gryffindor**

**Library Vault – Ravenclaw**

**Kioni – Kihana**

**Farm – Kihana**

**Sword – Kihana**

**Double Daggers – Kihana**

**Seeds – Kihana**

**Monsters – Kihana  
><strong>  
>"Explanation, please." Harry said quietly, still staring at the sheet.<p>

"These are a list of abilities, gifts or inheritances. May I see the sheet?" Griphook asked, nodding when Harry handed it over numbly. "Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Good. Metamorphagus is fairly self-explanatory. You may be able to train yourself to become a Metamorphagus. The lists of subjects are blood interests, things that over the generations the family has become masters in. Since magic is in the blood, their affinities to certain subjects are passed down from generation to generation. Understand?"

"Yes, I do."

Ragnarok grabbed the parchment, scanning it intently. " The ones handed down from Godric give you an affinity for swords and double daggers. Kihana has a sword and pair of daggers that you can wield as well. The Library Vault is a vault filled with books, probably made by Ravenclaw herself. Kihana has left you a farm, seeds, monsters and ability, probably transformational, called Kioni. Slytherin has given you the potential for parselmagics as well as parseltongue, and… that is all."

Harry stared. "And there's another two sheets?" at their nod, he groaned. "Just my luck. Why can't I be normal?" Harry whined, staring at them from his slumped position.

"You're Harry Potter."

"Right. Third sheet, please."

**Name: Harry B-R J Potter  
>Location: Gringotts<br>Mood: In Shock and Mightily Depressed at his Fate**

**Abilities:**

**Metamorphagus – Black **_**67%**_****

**Transfiguration – Potter **_**85%**_****

**Charms – Evanes **_**96%**_****

**Runes – Evanes **_**100%**_****

**Arithmancy – Evanes **_**89%**_****

**Blood Rituals – Gaunt **_**56%**_****

**Parseltongue – Slytherin **_**100%**_****

**Parselmagic – Slytherin **_**43%**_****

**Potions – Slytherin **_**97%**_****

**Weapon – Sword – Double Daggers – Gryffindor **_**100% 96%**_****

**Kioni – Kihana **_**100%**_

" If it is above 50% chance, then its likely you will receive the gift, albeit in a watered down form. 75% is medium strength and you will very likely receive the gift. Above 89% is full strength and the gift will definitely appear in your majority." Ragnarok explained as the sheet was passed around.

"What's on the fourth sheet?" Harry questioned. "We've gone through everything you mentioned."

"An overview of your properties." Griphook replied quickly.

**Name: Harry B-R J Potter  
>Location: Gringotts<br>Mood: Excited and Apprehensive**

**PROPERTIES:**

**Godric's Hollow – Potter – Ruins**

**Eledhien Farm – Kihana – Overgrown**

**Forbidden Forest – East Quarter – Evanes – Overgrown**

**Hogwarts – Dungeons – Slytherin**

**Hogwarts – Towers – Gryffindor**

**Hogwarts – Room of Requirements – Ravenclaw**

**Gaunt Manor – Gaunt – Ruins**

**Riddle Manor – Gaunt – Disrepair**

**LOCATIONS:**

**Godric's Hollow – Under Fidelius**

**Eledhien Farm – Scotland – Hogwarts – Under Great Tree in Forbidden Forest**

**Forbidden Forest – No Residents – Eledhien Farm**

**Hogwarts – Dungeons**

**Hogwarts – North, East, West and Astronomy Towers**

**Hogwarts – RoR – Seventh Floor – By painting of Barnaby the Barmy**

**Gaunt Manor – Uplottable – RUINED**

**Riddle Manor – Little Hangelton  
><strong>  
>"So… I could go and live in one of these properties? Potentially?" Harry mused. "Could I take the Magical Emancipation test now?"<p>

"Yes, if you truly wish to. There is no age limit set." Ragnarok rose from behind his desk, grabbing the large sword. As he removed it, Griphook took the athema and cut a line through his palm, laying a bloody handprint on a seemingly blank piece of wall.

"This can only be removed by me, and the door opened by willing goblin blood." Ragnarok explained, as the wall behind him disappeared.

There was a dark, circular room inside, lit only by the flickering flames of the brands hung in a pentagram. In the center was a pedestal, a solid piece of black jade, that glistened within the light. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up. The whole effect was creepy and powerful, and Harry felt certain he could feel an odd kind of whisper following him as he stepped inside.

"Do I touch the stone?" he whispered, feeling that raising his voice inside this place would be tantamount to suicide. The glowing blue orb hovered above a cushion made of faded velvet, and it rotated towards him at the sound of his voice. There was a single slit of red, like an eye, that made Harry immensely nervous.

There was no answer.

The door had closed behind him.

One small, trembling hand reached out, the white fingers ghostly in the blue light. The orb pulsed once, a flash of blue-white light that nearly blinded Harry, before his fingers touched the Stone.

****


	3. Chapter 3

**Last Time:**

_There was no answer._

_The door had closed behind him._

_One small, trembling hand reached out, the white fingers ghostly in the blue light. The orb pulsed once, a flash of blue-white light that nearly blinded Harry, before his fingers touched the Stone._

**Who are you?**

**I am Harry.**

**Harry?**

**Yes.**

**Why have you come to me, Harry?**

**Do you not know?**

**It would be best if you told me.**

**I have come to get emancipated, if possible.**

**Why, Harry?**

**Because I am sick of being used as a pawn by idiots who control me just because in their eyes I am a child.**

**You do not consider yourself as such?**

**…no. To be a child, one must have had a childhood and need to grow up. I have not had a childhood, and I grew up by the time I was four.**

**I see.**

**Do you?**

**Yes. I can feel your feelings, witness your memories. I am you for the duration of this meeting.**

**Ah. That's… rather disturbing.**

**Merlin did not help create me to disturb people, but to judge them.**

Harry felt the voice was slightly annoyed.

**Sorry.**

**I know.**

**So… How exactly does this work?**

**I see. I feel. I judge. I send. I keep.**

**Yeah, that wasn't cryptic or anything…**

Harry felt the Stone sigh.

**I apologize. It has been over a millennium since I have spoken to a human. The rats are not great conversationalists.**

**I'm sorry. That must have been horrible.**

**It was not the best. Enough idle chatter, Harry. I begin.**

**Sorry.**

There was a sense of time, and the there was only the Stone, and its white-blue light. His mind traveled along his memories, but all Harry could see was blue and white, a never-ending sea that made him weep and laugh in joy so profound he never wanted to leave.

**You have seen much, faced much, overcome much.**

**I know.**

**You have killed.**

**I know.**

**You have fought for others and against others.**

**I know.**

**You have been blinded by a manipulative old goat, too.**

Harry felt a brief moment of vertigo.

**Um… was that humor? Dry humor?**

**Yes.**

**Ah. Right. Anyway, Dumbledore.**

**Yes. The old goat.**

**… Yeah. Him. What did you mean by blinded?**

**He has made you blind.**

**…Blind to what?**

**His manipulations.**

**What exactly are his manipulations?**

**Think, you foolish mortal. Think, and REMEMBER!**

Harry felt the other presence leave his mind with a jolt, and the last thing he saw before unnatural sleep took over his body was a red eye, closing, and turning away.

_"How could you? How COULD you?" Harry gazed up, betrayed. "He trusted you, you know!" Dumbledore sighed._

_"It was unavoidable, Harry. Tom Riddle needed to become a Dark Lord. Obliviate!"_

_**"**__Ginny? What are you doing in the kitchens?" Harry asked suspiciously, watching as she flushed and looked away._

_"N-nothing, Harry. I was just… just-uh-um… talking to the house-elves." Ginny stuttered. Harry swore he saw something dark pass through her eyes. He tensed, pulling on his game face._

_"Oh, really? Well, that's okay then! Although, don't tell Hermione. She'll go all S.P.E.W on us." Harry laughed, eyes studying her face intently. A flash of relief, then shrewd malice, crossed her face in a flash. Ginny laughed as well, before exiting the kitchens. Harry's expression dropped._

_"Dobby!" he called out. The little elf appeared, looking over his shoulder before turning large, tear-stained bulbous green eyes on his master. Harry smiled gently at him. "Dobby, what did she really want? And why are you so afraid?"_

_"The bad witchy, the reddy one who nots cares for mister Harry Potty Sir, she trys the makes the elvies put bad, bad evil stuff in mster Harry Sir's drinkses. The HeadyBanger wantses the elvies nots to tells Harry Sir's of the evil foxses drinksy put ing-ers." Dobby mumbled quickly, before banging his head of the table and screaming Dumbledore's name._

_"Harry, my dear boy. You shouldn't have to worry about this mad elf…" Dumbledore began, before Harry cut him off with a glare._

_"I trust Dobby. He is my friend."_

_"In that case, Harry, my boy, I have no other choice…" Dumbledore raised his wand, the third year gritting his teeth stubbornly. "Obliviate!"_

_"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked carefully, the fourteen-year-old sitting gingerly near the table._

_"Yes, dear?" Molly asked, turning away to hide her shark-like smile. "What did you want to talk to me about?"_

_"I'm worried about Ginny." Harry murmured, and her smile grew._

_"What about her?"_

_"Well, she's sleeping around a lot, and wearing skimpy clothes. And I think she likes me!" the black-haired teen exclaimed. Molly's smile dropped, but she kept her voice light as she fingered her chopping knife._

_"And do you like her?" Her hand dropped to her wand, caressing it lightly, lovingly. Yew with a core of acromantula fur. Death, deceit and torture._

_"No. She… I don't like girls." Harry fumbled his words, staring at Molly's stiff back with wide eyes. " Can't you get her to stop? She scares me!"_

_" No."_

_"What?... Mrs. Weasley?" Harry slowly stood up. The hairs on the back of his head rose up, and he shivered._

_"Yes, dear?" Her voice was light and cheery. It made Harry want to run far, far away. A random phrase popped into his head '__**The worst psychopath is the one whom everyone trusts.'**___

_"I-I think I'll go see if Ron is up." Harry began to back away. Molly turned around, her face contorted into a vicious, bloodthirsty smile._

_"Now, now, dearie. No need to run away." Molly smiled wider, hefting the knife in one hand while the other cast quick Silencing, Binding and Notice-Me-Not charms around the kitchen._

_For the next hour all Harry could remember was slicing pain, carved words and the stench of blood. The last words he heard before he fell into unconsciousness were whispered in the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore._

_"Obliviate."_

_" Hello." Harry smiled at the small snake in the glass tank. "What isss your call bringer?"_

_Snake language was odd like that. Words and sentence structures in English meant nothing to them, so it was always strange to speak and know, instinctively, what he was talking about while the part that heard in English struggled to make sense of it._

_"Ssspeaker?" The little snake hissed excitedly, it's head swaying from one eye to the other. "Zssander iss my calling. What isss yoursss, Ssspeaker?"_

_"I am Harry…" Harry began, but his words in Parseltongue twisted themselves around to make, "Lightning Mark and Shade Child bring I to be called."_

_" Ssspeaker Lightning Mark and Shade Child, I have found you my ssself Binder…" The snake whispered gently. "Runn, Sssnake Ssspeaker Chiilld. Sssseee the Beee!"_

_The snake darted behind the others in its tank, pretending to sleep._

_"Harry, my boy! Why were you talking to snakes?" Dumbledore twinkled down at the shorter teen, who glared up at him._

_"Is that any of your businesss, Headmassster?" He asked coldly, not noticing the slight hiss to his words. Dumbledore, however, did. His twinkle faded, and his wand rose to point between the boy's eyes._

_"I can't have you turning away from me, weapon! You must forget, for the Greater Good, of course." Dumbledore smiled gently at the small boy that backed away slowly._

_" But first…" Dumbledore smirked. "A little pain to teach you a lesson you will, unfortunately, soon forget. The body and mind are amazing things however. They will remember even if you do not!"_

_Harry shook his head, backing even further away. "No. No. NO! Nonononononononono" He babbled, images of his Uncle with that same expression over-riding his commonsense. Harry froze._

_"Crucio!" The old wizard held his wand on the screaming teen with malicious pleasure. Watcher-Harry turned his head away, feeling the screams resound with his very psyche. In a desperate effort not to remember the rest, Watcher-Harry screwed his eyes shut. He had never been raped before. He never wanted to be again._

_The pain tore at him from the inside, making him scream and sob. The old man above him was smiling, pounding into him faster and faster, using his blood as lubrication. The Crucio was put on again as Dumbledore found his relief, and Harry tore his mind away from the memory._

_"Hey, Neville!" Harry called out, only to stop in shock as he watched one of his best friends up against a wall, being practically devoured by Draco Malfoy. The thing is, Neville was enjoying it, if his moans were anything to go by. Feeling himself blush, Harry moved away from the scene only to crash into a long beard._

_Feeling an unholy sense of doom, Harry gazed into the twinkling blue eyes of his Headmaster._

_"Uh, hello, sir." Harry mumbled, dodging around him in an effort to escape the feeling of doom plaguing him._

_"Hmm…" Harry broke the gaze after a minute. "Harry, my boy?" for some reason, Harry felt himself shudder in disgust._

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"I am afraid I can't let you get any ideas from what you just witnessed. Obliviate! Stupefy!" Dumbledore cast quickly, and Harry slumped to the floor._

_"What! He's been stealing my money? AND he knew that Peter was the real Secret Keeper?" Harry yelled, staring at… his parents?_

_The red-haired woman with startling green eyes answered. "Yes, dear. We've spoken to the goblins. We'll have to go soon. If he finds out we have a portrait when he ordered the burning of all containing us…" Lily shuddered, and was held close by James._

_His father looked down at Harry with grave hazel eyes. "You have been marked by Prophecy. He will not want to lose control of you. Be careful who you are friends with. Also… Tell Severus that we forgive him. I may not have been the nicest in school, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "The man has done a lot for this family. Tell him his life-debt is over. And tell that old dog to make a move already!"_

_Harry frowned. "Sirius fell through the Veil. He… He's dead, dad."_

_James shook his head. "No, he's not. If he was dead then his portrait would have activated, and it hasn't."_

_"You mean… I could get him out?" Harry breathed, hope in his eyes._

_"He should come out on his own, dear." Lily interjected, smiling fondly at her son. "The Veil only judges criminals. Those judged innocent are sent back. I made a study of the Veil when I was in 7__th__ year, for an Ancient Runes project. In your vault their should be a black and gold and a white and silver trunk filled with my memento's and the other with your father's."_

_Harry smiled up at them. "Bye, Mother, Father. Have a good trip."_

_Lily and James Potter smiled down at their son. "We love you, and we're very proud, son. We-" they were cut off as they fled the portrait seconds before a sickly yellow spell hit the frame and now empty scene._

_Harry looked behind him. There was Dumbledore, oddly coloured robes swirling, stalking towards him with deadly intent._

_"You fool of a boy! You have ruined my plans time and time again, finding things and surviving when you shouldn't! How long have you known this portrait was here?" He boomed, sending a low powered Cruciatus Curse when Harry refused to speak. After seven minutes of torture, Harry broke._

_His left arm was broken in three places and cut to ribbons. His right arm was dislocated but only had one slice, jagged and long, from his elbow to wrist. His right leg was twisted and bent beneath him, and felt completely numb. The ankle was twisted grotesquely 360 degrees, as was his left kneecap. His left leg had been the target of a cutting curse. His nerves were shot, and his torso covered in burns and lacerations._

_It was no wonder the boy broke… or so Dumbledore thought._

_"I… I only just met them today! T-they called out to me!" He sobbed out, sure that at least one rib was broken._

_Dumbledore's face relaxed into a smile, which only made Harry sob harder._

_"There, there, my boy." He soothed. "It was necessary, as I am sure you understand. My plans are all for the Greater Good, after all." Casting a few quick healing charms, Dumbledore levitated the boy upwards._

_"Obliviate. You fell down the stairs, Harry." He whispered, then threw the limp boy over and down to crunch on one of the moving stairs. He didn't notice the paintings whispering, or the glowing yellow eyes peering out of the visor of a nearby suit of armour._

Harry felt his body start to stir, and tried to fight it. He didn't want to wake up and remember. He wanted to drift in the peaceful darkness forever...__

** **


End file.
